A Step Too Far
by Alissie
Summary: She's just another rebel taken to Hogwarts Castle during a raid and put to work. There's no reasons Draco should keep thinking about her the way he does. He has a war to win, a wedding to Lady Pansy to plan, and can't keep getting distracted by her Mudblood lady's maid. But there's something about Hermione Granger. AU Dramione.
1. Chapter 1

Her first mistake was going to the gatherers when they were attacked. There were protocols in place for Healers to tend to the wounded, but more than half of the Healers were on a separate mission and she knew in her gut that they needed every able wand to aid their injured comrades.

"You're going to be fine," she murmured, kneeling over a sweating Dean Thomas as his body shook with tremors. She didn't have to ask to know that he was suffering from the aftershocks of the Cruciatus curse, mercilessly applied on the makeshift battlefields that were dotting the region. "Almost all patched up, then I'll get you back with the others, alright?"

Dean jerked his head in what might have been a nod.

All around the fallen workers, baskets of what had meant to be provisions were strewn, and Hermione could not help but spare a thought for all of the food that would go to waste. It was rare that they could risk a trip like this into one of the larger villages to trade for fish and other essential proteins, so she and her fellow fighters typically made do with what they could gather themselves. This ruined trip would mean a lot of unrest within their ranks.

Perhaps it was her lack of attention that was her second mistake. Perhaps it was the way that she let her eyes scan the ground instead of focusing on finishing her task and Disapparating as quickly as possible. In the silent, sightless time to follow, Hermione found herself making a detailed list of every moment she could have turned, every slight sound that could have alerted her sooner. Every instant that could have changed what happened next.

A hand lay on her shoulder.

"Nearly done," she murmured, waving her wand in small circles over the gash that Dean's leg seemed to be sucking back into itself.

The hand closed on her shoulder and jerked her back and up, lurching her unsteadily to her feet. Instincts raring far to late, Hermione jabbed an elbow back into her assailant's stomach only to be roughly grabbed by another. She shot off a disarming spell, not having time to aim before her vision went black and her limbs snapped to her sides.

It would have been more merciful if she had been unconscious, but Hermione remained fully aware as she lay on the ground. She heard her friends screaming, shouting for each other as a second wave of the battle raged. She cursed herself for not seeing the danger, for putting her friends in this situation- for putting herself in this situation. The guilty voice in her head scolded her, knowing that she was too valuable to be captured, especially with Ron…

With him gone.

It was torture, being incapacitated but aware. Hermione strained her ears as the sounds of fighting softened, and eventually ceased. She was shocked to then hear laughter, the sounds of joking amongst her attackers.

"-too easy," one was saying as he came into earshot. "I already told Jeanie I wouldn't make it back for dinner."

"Jeanie'll make enough for two anyway, mate," laughed a second man, "you know that. Let's get them back and you can send her a note. Broad'll be thrilled."

Dinner. She was laying next to the body of one of her friends, who- was Dean still alive? Hermione willed her body to turn, to lean even a bit closer to Dean's, to feel his breathing form next to hers, but no movement came- and these men were laughing about the fact they would make it home for dinner.

"Can't wait 'til the General gets a hold of this lot," said a third, gruff voice. "Can't imagine they'll be of much use."

"Eh, you know Malfoy-"

" _General_ Malfoy," corrected the gruff man.

"-he'll find some use for them," continued the youngest man, not sounding like he cared too terribly much about their fates. "Alright, so lock and load the women, dump the men?"

Hermione's stomach gave another lurch.

"The General wants us to start tidying up," said Gruff Man, a frown clear in his voice. "Doesn't want us leaving a mess."

"Well that's terribly polite," said Young Man with a laugh.

"Something about not letting them mourn right or something," replied Gruff Man brusquely. "Anyway, we need to bring the women back to the castle and then build a pyre for this lot."

The other two groaned.

"I thought we were wrapping up early," grumbled Dinner Man. "Got me all excited for nothing."

"I'll start with this lot," continued Gruff Man, as if he hadn't heard the complaint. "You two work on the men, then bring those two. Check in with the General when you're through."

A few moments later, there was a sharp crack, followed by an extended moment of silence. Then Hermione heard more grumbling from who she assumed was the Young Man and the Dinner Man.

"Doesn't want them to get to _mourn_ now," muttered the Dinner Man, barely audible over the sound of something heavy being dragged through the grass. Hermione did her best to not think about what that something might be. "Wants us to build a _pyre_ for their dead."

"And Randolph gets to just go right back!" said the Young Man, as something- again, _not thinking about it, not thinking about it_ \- made a sickening _plop_. "Bet he's got a nice piece of something waiting at home for him."

There were a few minutes broken up by nothing but sounds that Hermione tried to block out of her head. Then suddenly, the noises ended.

"I'm getting dinner with Jeanine," said Dinner Man, "fuck Randolph and his new rules. C'mon, let's get these two back to the castle."

"What about the bodies?" asked the Young Man.

Hermione could almost hear the shrug as the Dinner Man spoke. "They're just bodies," he said, "let the Muggle-lovers have them." A bit softer, he added, "They should bury their dead anyway."

Hermione was hauled awkwardly to her feet, where she swayed unsteadily, unable to center her weight without control of her body. Part of her mind wondered which other women she was being taken to the castle with- it was easier than wondering which of the men they would be leaving behind. The lingering positive spirit she desperately clung to prayed that some of them were wounded but lived on.

The uncomfortable pressure of Apparition closed in around her, and for a moment there was the odd sense of nothingness before the air around her shifted. There was an ambient sense of warmth, more comfortable than the brisk wind of the abandoned battleground, and something almost perfumed in the air.

There wasn't time for Hermione to place the nearly familiar scent, however. The binding charms had broken with the Apparition, which meant that she was not traveling with their original caster. Hermione attempted to steady herself, but it was disconcerting as she was still unable to see and was thus unable to tell which way she was in relation to her captor.

A chuckle.

"Nowhere for you to scamper off to," said the Dinner Man. His hand touched her arm, not releasing her from his firm grip when she automatically flinched away from his contact. "I wouldn't waste the energy, were it me. C'mon, I'm to get you dropped off. Don't move or I'll poke your eye out."

Hermione bristled at the odd threat, only making sense of his words a moment later as she felt the tip of his wand land on her forehead. The veil of darkness lifted from her face and she blinked rapidly, taking in the chamber around her. The walls were made of ancient-looking stone, and if the afternoon's light wasn't still pouring through the large glass panes lining the entrance hall, the only light would have come from the masses of candles hanging from the walls.

"Welcome to Hogwarts Castle."

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Hogwarts Castle. The words sent a burst of panic through Hermione, no matter how brave she wanted to be, no matter how hard she fought against it. She knew that she was not a fighter- that was, after all, why she had had no place on the battlefield this morning, even as an emergency Healer.

No, Hermione Granger's place was back in the Black Phoenix camp, warded and invisible on a Scottish hillside that even she wasn't confident she could locate on her own. She had spent more than half of her life fighting a war that most of the world didn't realize was occurring alongside the other Muggleborns, Half-Bloods, and sympathizers who made up the Revolution. (There had been various attempts at giving themselves a name to inspire fear from their enemy and strength among their own ranks, but after the Silver Centaur camp was located after a few loose words in a pub, this idea was ultimately scrapped. Those who mattered knew who they were.)

Hermione had heard the name Lord Voldemort for the first time when she was eleven years old. In normal circumstances, she had been informed, that was the age at which she would have begun her magical education. Instead, a fearsome Scottish witch had appeared in her living room, causing her mum to drop her birthday cake and her father to cry out and brandish the cake slicer like it would do any good against the intruder.

She had told the Grangers about Hermione's gift, the explanation for the strange events that had surrounded her throughout her childhood. They wanted more explanation than Minerva was willing to give, and needed more time than the witch said they had to spare. At midnight, her name would appear in a book possessed by the enemy, wizards she described using sweeping terms like "dark" and "demented." Hermione knew now that it was a more nuanced situation than that.

Her parents had agreed to relinquish custody of her in a tearful affair that Hermione was glad had faded into one of those fuzzy childhood memories she could hardly bring to focus now that she was grown. Minerva had allowed Hermione to grab a few knick-knacks from her room before sending her along with another witch to be brought to camp. Hermione didn't find out for another few years that Minerva took that time to wipe her parents' memories in an effort to protect them should the enemy come looking for their daughter.

The eleven year old could not fully understand the need to leave her family, but her newfound gifts had become almost an addiction. She was lured with the promise of training, with stronger abilities, with powers of Transfiguration and flight, of winged horses and invisibility. At twenty-three, Hermione was now quite adept at meeting a Muggleborn child who was of the age to join them and figuring out what lures to present them with to provide the proper enticement. Some days it sickened her. Most days, she knew she had no choice. The moment their name appeared in the enchanted book held in Hogwarts Castle, Voldemort's army would be able to track them down and take the child as their own. From a purely logistical standpoint, their magical potential was too valuable to waste.

She was fifteen when she found out about the prophecy. But today, standing inside this thrice-cursed castle for the first time, she did _not_ want to think about _that_ , of all things.

Dinner Man led Hermione through the labyrinth of corridors and staircases- _moving_ staircases, she was shocked to discover- to a large room containing racks of dresses and one middle-aged witch wearing deep purple and a stern frown.

"Just the one more?" said the witch, looking Hermione over appraisingly.

"Should be," said the Dinner Man. "You'll take her from here?"

"Why, are you in a hurry, Simmons?" asked the witch, lifting a plucked brow at him.

Dinner Man- Simmons, Hermione corrected mentally- chuckled and shrugged sheepishly.

"Figured I'd head back to the village, spend the night with Jeanie," he admitted. "Today didn't take too long, gotta take the time while I can."

The witch's countenance softened and she nodded.

"I'll clean her up and get her assignment," she said. "Get going, you."

Simmons didn't need telling twice. With a wide grin, he scampered from the room, leaving Hermione alone with the older woman.

"My name is Madame Malkin," said the witch, her voice firm but not unkind. "I outfit the castle's servants and assorted occupants."

"Servants," Hermione echoed, hardly aware that the word had slipped from her lips.

"And assorted occupants," repeated Madam Malkin, her lips twitching as she recognized the irony in her statement. "There are assignment uniforms for each position. I'll be dressing you for tonight and bringing you to one of the captains to be assigned to something more permanent."

Hermione felt her heartbeat speeding up again. She knew that she couldn't trust anyone in this castle, but she had so many questions and simply had to start somewhere.

"Assignments," she said softly, knowing she must sound daft, repeating the other woman again. "What do we… They only brought the women," she said flatly, deciding to cut to the chase.

Madam Malkin nodded, her lips flattening.

"There are various positions throughout the castle," said the woman, "depending on your strengths and what is needed. We do not believe in wasting talented individuals."

"I'm a-"

"Not your magic," interrupted Madam Malkin. "There's plenty of work to be done here that won't involve that."

She began rifling through a rack of clothing as she continued to speak, sounding as if she was reciting a list of talking points from memory.

"I don't know what you may have been told about how things are run here," said Madam Malkin, "but there will be plenty to keep you occupied during your stay. Your tasks will be overseen depending on your station, but there shouldn't be a need to keep you under lock and key. You were taken today with one of the gathering groups, were you not? The raid by Plummont?"

Hermione nodded mutely.

"Precisely. The low-risk prisoners are given a fair amount of flexibility in the castle." Madam Malkin smiled kindly at Hermione, and she realized that the witch was trying to extend her some comfort in this bizarre situation. "The building is warded against your escape, and there are further enchantments worked into your wardrobe, depending again on your station. They aren't designed to hurt you, just… keep you here."

After pulling a dress from the rack, Madam Malkin moved to a second station where an assortment of odd necklaces were displayed. Looking them over thoughtfully, she continued.

"So long as you do what you're told, you should be fine," the woman continued, pulling a necklace away from the others and placing it on top of the dress in her arms. "Put these on and I'll take you downstairs to get situated."

Under the older witch's watchful gaze, Hermione stripped off her grass-streaked Muggle attire, leaving it in a graceless pile on the floor. She had found it easier to spend her days in comfortable jeans instead of robes, except on the rare occasions she was able to enter one of the villages and gather intelligence for her camp. Heat rising to her cheeks, she removed her sweaty trainers and socks, leaving them next to her discarded clothing.

The dress Madam Malkin had given her was simple, made of something that felt both soft and sturdy. The fabric was royal blue and had none of the ornaments Madam Malkin herself bore- Hermione recognized a few of the crests about the witch's breast from what they had learned of how Lord Voldemort had organized his ranks, but others were foreign to her. The necklace she had been given was a thick silver chain adorned with a single flat disk hanging at the base of Hermione's throat. The metal was only cool for a moment before it adjusted to her body temperature. She did everything she could to not think about her new slave collar.

"Very good," said Madam Malkin, watching as Hermione slipped her feet into the plain black flats which she had provided. "You'll have the opportunity to properly clean yourself later- I'm afraid this is the best we can do on short notice."

Hermione took an automatic step back as Madam Malkin drew her wand, but made no further move as it was levied at her. The cool touch of a cleansing charm brushed against her face and neck, then down her arms and legs. It wasn't a replacement for the hot shower Hermione desired, but she realized that she had probably been covered with dirt from her time in the field.

"That'll do for now," said Madam Malkin with a nod. "Come along, let's see who's back from their missions."

Hermione followed Madam Malkin back into the maze that was the castle. They travelled together in silence, and Hermione attempted to pay more attention to her surroundings than she had while walking with the Dinner Man. They passed a few others, to whom Madam Malkin nodded and away from Hermione hurriedly looked. The part of her brain that was panicking over the fact that she had been captured, that she was _actually_ trapped inside of Hogwarts Castle, was doing its best to break free, and she couldn't afford to lose control until she was alone. She ordered that part quiet and trained her eyes on the back of Madam Malkin's perfectly-coiffed head.

Hermione could not tell what made the witch stop at this door when she did. There were banners above many of the countless castle doors. Some bore words announcing the room's purpose, but many only had symbols, like the badges worn by the castle's occupants.

"Ah," said Madam Malkin, "he's in. Well, dear, the Captain will take it from here. I'll see you again once you have your proper assignment." With a soft smile, she added, "Chin up."

Madam Malkin gave the door a series of sharp raps. After a brief moment, a voice from within intoned, "Enter."

The door swung open, and with a directive look from Madam Malkin, Hermione took a deep breath and stepped inside.

This was a far cry from the room she had been in previously. It appeared to be the personal chambers- her mind stalled partway through this thought, coming to a screeching halt as she took in too many things at once. The fine furnishings (bookshelves, wonderfully filled; desk, currently occupied; table, totally obscured with parchment; rugs, one too many to be tasteful), the lighting (more hanging candles, like the rest of the castle, but also ambient light coming from a source she could not place), the oversized paintings (striking colors, striking subjects, _goodness_ those cover so much of the wall) and-

And the enormous bed set against the far wall.

"Well?"

Hermione jumped and immediately cursed herself for it. She had been caught up in taking in the room and had somehow managed to glaze _right over_ the man sitting behind the desk. He was giving her an appraising look, and as she met his eyes, her mouth went dry.

My, how had she managed to overlook him?

The man stood, and she saw that he was a good deal taller than herself. He had the kind of pale skin you only got from spending a good amount of time indoors, and hair so pale that she fleetingly wondered if he was part-vampire. _That would be the cherry on the top of my day, now wouldn't it?_ But he was too striking to be a vampire, and as he approached, she saw that his hair was actually a pale blonde, not white as she had originally thought.

"Ah," said the man, tilting his head slightly, "new girl. Well, might as well get started, then."

Without breaking eye contact, the man lifted his hands to his shirt and pulled it over his head in one swift motion.


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione stared into the steely grey eyes of the man before her, resisting the (quite compelling) urge to let her eyes drop to his chest the way he had let his shirt drop to the floor.

"Absolutely not," she said, hoping that her voice matched the steel in his eyes.

"What?" said the man blankly.

"I said absolutely not," said Hermione. Refusing to step backwards and show the fear that was strumming through her body, she stepped around the man who was only a foot away from her and crossed over to the parchment-strewn table. "I don't know what kind of twisted society you think you're living in, but- just _no_."

The man turned to follow her with his gaze, keeping his feet rooted in place.

"You seem to have a fundamental misunderstanding of your current situation," he said slowly.

"Oh yes," said Hermione bitterly, "you're right, I have somehow _forgotten_ that I was taken from my friends to be held captive in this thrice-cursed castle. The whole day seems to have slipped my silly little mind!"

"As a _captive,"_ said the man, placing an emphasis on the word Hermione wished she could erase from her body, "you do realize that you don't have very much say in what you'll be doing while you're here, right?"

"I realize that," said Hermione, "but you see, you already took me and- and _killed_ my friends. So while I would like to stay alive, there are still things I will not do to achieve that. So you can just put that shirt back on, _milord_ , and go find someone else to terrorize."

Hermione realized that she was losing her tenuous grip on both her anger and her fear. The reality of her situation had begun to catch up with her at the worst possible moment. She hadn't had the opportunity to stop and think about what she would and wouldn't do to keep herself safe, and while she was certain there were some lines she wouldn't cross- was this one of them?

But the words had already come out of her mouth, and an unreadable emotion was flashing across the cool eyes of the man in front of her. Hermione realized that she may have made an irredeemable error and was trying to decide if taking her words back was worth the potential consequences when a knock sounded on the door.

"Enter," said the man, quirking a brow at the intruder.

Madam Malkin entered, a small brunette witch trailing behind her. The stranger was wearing the same dress as Hermione but in an earthy green tone, and holding a large basin full of steaming water. Not meeting the man's eyes, she approached and set the basin near his feet.

"Madam Malkin," said the man slowly, looking between the matronly witch and the one at his feet, kneeling by the basin of water. "I seem to be seeing double."

"If you want two, I can get you assigned two," said Madam Malkin with a chuckle. "No, the new one's here for her assignment. You haven't found one for her yet?"

Hermione's eyes widened as she took in the new witch, who was laying out a towel next to the water basin, before looking back to the shirtless man. Upon closer inspection, there were thin streaks of dirt across his chest, and a bit of what might have been blood.

"We were just getting to know each other," said the man, a smile quirking up the edge of his lips. "I'll have her handle this for tonight while we sort out her assignment. Calla, you're dismissed, do whatever you please until dinner."

The witch by his feet stood with a smile, nodded to the man, then hastened out of the room. Madam Malkin gave Hermione an appraising look before offering the man a nod of her own and leaving, closing the door behind her.

Hermione felt a hot blush rising to her cheeks and found herself unable to meet the man's eyes. The heat only increased when she heard him begin to chuckle.

"So," he said as she bored holes into one of his four rugs with her eyes, "let's try this again. My name is Draco Malfoy. I'm a captain here, and when I get back from my missions, Madam Malkin has one of the girls come and wash me."

Hermione nodded, still unable to speak or meet his gaze, which she could feel was on her. A moment later, she heard the sound of a chair being dragged across the floor. She chanced a glance up and saw Draco- or was she to call him Captain Malfoy?- bringing the desk chair over to where the basin of water was stationed.

"I was splinched last year during a raid," he continued, sitting in the chair, "and healing that sort of thing is quick enough, but there were some range of motion problems after. Nothing I couldn't work through, but it was easier to have some help for a time." With a grin, he added, "and then when I was perfectly healed, well, I was just spoiled."

Glancing again around the room, Hermione was tempted to say that she felt it likely that he had been spoiled well before that point, but she thought that she had pressed her luck far enough for one day.

"I know you've got plenty to say," prodded Draco, cocking an eyebrow at her, "so why don't you come over and start with your name?" With a lazy grin, he added, "I won't bite."

Wishing the flush would fade from her cheeks, Hermione approached the chair and tentatively knelt, taking one of the towels the other witch had left for her.

"I'm Hermione," she said softly, "Hermione Granger."

She had been fighting with this decision from the moment she had been captured, but she knew the moment that her name slipped from her lips that she had made the right one. Draco nodded in acknowledgment, but there was no spark of recognition, no jolt as he realized that he had Harry Potter's best friend kneeling by his feet.

"Well, Hermione," said Draco, "welcome to our humble castle."

She bit down the flash of anger at his words, turning her grimace into a tight smile as she dipped the towel into the steaming water. She guessed the bowl was enchanted to keep the water at a steady temperature- squinting, she could almost make out a set of runes engraved on the bottom of the basin. Squeezing the excess water from the handcloth, she reached out, trying to make herself seem sure in her actions as she began to wipe the cloth across Draco's chest.

The man before her seemed to unfurl at her actions. His head leaned back and his eyes drifted shut as Hermione worked her way down his abdomen, only allowing herself to pause briefly to take in the definition of his muscles. It was a build that did not come from wandwork alone, she realized, glancing up at the captain with new interest. Either he did not notice her pause, or he did not care.

"So, Hermione," said Draco after a few more silent moments, "you'll need an assignment. This isn't exactly a regular posting. What are you good at?"

Hermione thought for a moment, wringing out the towel before starting down Draco's left arm. She allowed herself to consider the thin lines of what she was now certain was dried blood before responding.

"A bit of this and that," she demurred.

Draco lifted his head to look at her, finding some amusement in her words.

"Bit of an interest in everything?" he asked, watching as her hands traveled back up his arm and to his chest. "No one area where you excel?"

"Excel?" repeated Hermione, not meeting his eyes. "No, not really."

She watched as his muscles contracted with his disbelieving laughter.

"A woman like you," he murmured, as if only for his own ears. Louder, he added, "Well, what did you do before today, then?"

"Various tasks around my camp," replied Hermione promptly, dipping the cloth back into the still-steaming basin. She chanced a look at Draco's face and smiled blandly. "I learned how to use the bit of magic I ended up with, but there wasn't much to do with it, so I ended up with the cooking, mainly. Helping with some of the children, trying to keep them out of the way of the others when they were getting ready to go fight. I learned a bit of Healing, but too much blood makes me queasy."

Draco gave her a quizzical look before shaking his head and relaxing back into his seat. They settled back into their earlier silence, which was mostly comfortable, and Hermione thought over what she had told him. She couldn't find anything problematic in the statements, but he still seemed somewhat displeased.

When he wasn't speaking, it was easier to take in his physique, which made Hermione almost anxious to find another need for conversation. What would a Pureblood supremacist like him need with actual muscles like these? She knew that she had heard his surname before, but her typically well-organized mind was in a thousand places and she could not think of what meaning Malfoy had.

Perhaps she could have learned more if she had been paying more attention upon entering the room. He had certainly been wearing the typical crests upon his shirt before it had been hastily discarded, but without glancing over at the fabric behind her, Hermione was unable to recall even what color it had been! Hopefully her analytical mindset would return to her soon and she could begin compiling some useful information for her inevitable escape.

That was how she had to view this situation, she had decided somewhere between her capture and this moment, kneeling before Captain Malfoy. This was a temporary setback in what she knew would be a long journey, but this was certainly not the end of her story. She would see to that.

When she was certain she had gotten all of the dirt and blood off of Draco's torso, Hermione used the remaining towel to dry his skin. Once she was finished, she stood automatically, then had a brief flicker of doubt upon remembering how the other witch had remained kneeling until she had been dismissed.

Draco looked her over once more, eyes back to the unreadable silver that they had been during their earlier misunderstanding. Hermione dug her teeth into the tip of her tongue to keep herself silent as she wondered how she had fared on this first evaluation.

"Have you served as a lady's maid before?" he asked at last.

"Never had the chance," said Hermione simply. The noble class rarely strayed far from the castle, and Muggleborn witches were either brought here and indoctrinated when they came into their magic or taken into the resistance and assigned to one of the camps to fight for a permanent place in the magical community. Hermione had only seen the nobility a handful of times during her missions, and always from a distance.

"You should do well there," said Draco with a thoughtful nod. "It is, as you put it, a little bit of everything. I'll bring you to her now."

He put on a new shirt, and Hermione was startled to see the number of ornamental markings on its breast. Seeing where her eyes had traveled, Draco chuckled.

"Perks of being a captain," he said, running a hand through his hair. "Now, your mistress will go over her expectations for your behavior, and Madam Malkin will issue you a full set of belongings for your stay here."

Hermione couldn't help but let a small snort of disbelief slip out.

Draco took a measured step closer, and Hermione's stomach clenched with nerves. Again refusing to step back, she watched him defiantly as he invaded her personal space, then reached out a hand to lift her chin upward.

"A word of advice," he added softly. "Figure out what your breaking point is going to be before the next time you're faced with a shirtless man. My brothers in arms are skilled in many things, including getting what they want."

He let his touch linger for the briefest moment before dropping his hand, leaving a cold spot on Hermione's face where it had been. Without a further word, Draco stepped around her and led the way out of the room, leaving her scampering to catch up.


	3. Chapter 3

Lady Pansy seemed to be stuck in one of those recurring nightmares where she had a dreadfully important event on the horizon, and had a plethora of possible outfits to choose from, but all of the women who were supposed to be making themselves available to help her _prepare_ for said event had managed to find _other_ ways to occupy their time, leaving her hopelessly alone and unable to get into any of her dresses.

Alright, perhaps it wasn't quite so drastic, but it certainly felt that way.

"Why did Opal have to go _today?_ " hissed Pansy for the third time, tossing aside a box that had previously contained one of her favorite necklaces and now contained a necklace that seemed intent on disappointing her. It was bad enough that this Mudblood witch she had been given was named after a gemstone, for Circe's sake, but she wasn't _here_ when Pansy needed her, and what was the use of having help if they weren't there to actually be helpful?

"Her sister's having the baby today, my lady," repeated one of the other girls- Larissa or Laverne or something to that effect. "They're down in the village now."

Pansy sighed and set her head in her hands, then immediately lifting it, remembering she had already applied her makeup for dinner.

"I'll just have to do without," she grumbled, glaring at the dresses the other girls had picked for her.

It wasn't that the others were incapable of dressing her- there was nothing overly complicated about lacing one into a corset, or she wouldn't have trusted the task to them in the first place- but she had come to actually trust Opal's opinion when it came to picking her best colors. The silly little thing had made herself particularly useful, and Pansy hadn't needed to get ready without her in many months. She was horrified to realize she had become a bit dependant on the girl.

She was spared the difficult dress decision with the sound of someone knocking on her door. Lavinia (yes, that's it, her name is Lavinia) sprung out of her seat and went to answer it. Pansy stood, adjusting the tie to her floor-length robe to ensure that she looked both appropriately modest and alluring for whomever had come to look for her at this hour.

Seeing her visitor brought up a genuine smile. Pansy crossed from the vanity to greet the blonde man, stopping an appropriate distance away as Lavinia fell back behind her.

"Well, Captain Malfoy," said Pansy, "look who's back from his assignment. Another dreadful raid, or maybe some reconnaissance?"

"Always the questions," said the blonde man before her. For a moment, his demeanor matched his icy appearance, then a small smile lit his lips. "You know I can't tell you spy stories anymore."

Pansy pouted playfully. "Pity," she said, "I suppose that means we're all grown up, then."

Draco stepped aside and Pansy realized that he had not entered her room alone. His stature had entirely masked a much smaller woman, who stood even a bit shorter than Pansy herself. Her unruly brown hair was tied back from her freckled face, and she was eyeing Pansy with unmasked curiosity.

"I brought you a present," said Draco, nodding towards the stranger. "Just got her today."

"You spoil me," said Pansy, her voice dripping with overdone sweetness. "Does this one do anything useful?"

"You'll just have to wait and see," said Draco, his voice matching her own. Straightening, he added more seriously, "I need to meet with Father before dinner. I'll see you tonight."

No one spoke until Draco had closed the door, and even then Pansy waited until the new woman had turned her attention back around. She was thin, but not terribly so- Pansy had previously sent an assigned maid away to get fattened up first. She understood that these Muggle-loving folk were impoverished, but seeing the sorry state they arrived in could be sickening. At least this one had a bit of meat on her bones.

"What is your name?" Pansy asked after the silence had drawn on to be almost unbearable.

"Hermione," replied the woman, meeting her gaze straight-on.

Pansy waited.

"Hermione Granger," the woman amended after a moment.

One of the other maids snickered, and Hermione glanced at her, expression flickering between annoyance and confusion. When it was clear that this Hermione believed her answer complete, Pansy let out a long sigh.

"Hermione Granger, _my lady_ ," she instructed, fighting the overwhelming impulse to roll her eyes. "I swear, Malkin needs some kind of basic etiquette course before she forces you lot off on me. Lavinia, get me into my dress, then you're in charge of Hermione for the night. Help her get her things after dinner and figure out what room she's in. I don't have time to explain how the schedule runs."

The dark-skinned woman hurried to comply, using her nimble fingers to cinch Pansy's waist into a desirable hourglass shape. Hermione leaned against the wall, watching curiously as the woman worked the laces of the foreign undergarments before slipping on the finely embroidered gown. Pansy watched the new woman in the mirror, quickly dismissing something that felt like pity upon seeing the vacant look in her eyes.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Draco was unaware of the small grin he was wearing until he passed a gleaming mirror in one of the winding castle corridors. His lordship was a rather vain man and had a number of the reflective pieces around the castle- as soon as the thought was fully formed, Draco shook his head, as if doing so would erase the thought from his mind. He knew better that to think poorly of his leader. Especially in a place where not even your thoughts were truly safe.

By the time he reached one of the smaller meeting chambers, he was confident that his feelings were no longer apparent on his face, but one look at his father made him second-guess that assessment. Lucius Malfoy was pacing at the end of a long table, his walking stick keeping time with the faint tapping of his footsteps. When his eyes fell upon his son's, they showed faint displeasure, and Draco had the familiar sense of foreboding that typically accompanied meeting with this man.

"Father," he greeted with a nod, taking a casual seat at the table.

"Draco," said Lucius, tilting his head, "you seem… amused. I was not under the impression that your day's outing was particularly lighthearted. Perhaps I was mistaken."

Draco kept his frustrated sighing internal. It was to be one of those days, then.

"Week's," he corrected, "it's actually been over a week since I've been here. Hard to tell, I know. Big place."

Lucius's eyes narrowed as he exhaled sharply. At least one of them was free to show their frustration.

"I'm just in a good mood because we have better intelligence on where the rebels might be holding Blaise."

"Might be?" said Lucius.

"Are," corrected Draco at once. "The information is solid. We should be able to put together a mission and get him back within two weeks."

At this, Lucius' demeanor changed. He wasn't a man who used smiles to convey genuine emotion, but Draco knew his father well enough to be certain that this news pleased him.

"Very good," said Lucius simply.

He continued pacing, and Draco took a moment to take in his father's appearance. In the years since his mother's passing, his father hadn't shown the typical signs of aging- grey hairs, sagging skin- but there was something intangible about him which seemed to be slipping away, the same way it had been with Narcissa before she was lost to disease.

"Have you visited Lady Pansy?" asked his father suddenly, turning to face Draco.

"I brought her a gift," said Draco with a smirk. "A new Mudblood the boys got on a raid today. Should hold her interest for a little while."

Lucius levelled a serious look at Draco, who felt the smirk fading from his lips.

"I'll bring her back something proper after my next trip," he said. "Though Father, I hardly see the point. She knows I-"

"She is to be your wife, Draco," said his father, lifting a hand to silence him. "Preparations for your upcoming wedding have continued while you have been away, frittering away your time on these missions of yours."

Anger began to boil inside of Draco's chest.

"Blaise has been missing for nearly three months," he hissed. "I'm not exactly galavanting around the country, Father."

Lucius gave him a cool, thin-lipped smile. Needless to say, it did not reach his eyes.

"If what you told me before is true," he said, "we will have Blaise's safe return before you know it, and you will be out of your rather flimsy excuses. Find time to spend with the poor girl. Make the effort to get to know her. Figure out what makes her tick."

Draco bit back his immediate answer and nodded sharply.

"I have worked hard for this alliance," Lucius continued, stroking the head of his walking stick and letting his eyes wander around the meeting room. As it always was when he met with his son, it was otherwise unoccupied, but Draco could not remember the last time he and his father had met on less formal terms. "You must ensure that she is properly infatuated with you. Bringing her Mudbloods is quaint, but you know what women truly desire. Give her no reason to offer complaints, Draco. I'm counting on you."

Without further word, Lucius strode from the room, serpent-headed stick clacking along with his shoes. Draco remained seated at the table, staring at the far wall, lost in his own thoughts.

His father seemed oblivious about just how well he knew Pansy. It was rather hard not to know the other children in the castle when you were raised alongside each other while your parents fought in a war. They had all thought it would be over by the time it was their turn to take the lead, but that had been nothing but wishful thinking on their parts.

Draco had seen less of Pansy as they had grown older and their paths had diverged. He had begun to train as a warrior, striving to exceed the standards that Lord Voldemort had set for his army, and then his officers. Pansy, who had taken basic courses by his side as a girl, was funneled into more appropriate pursuits as she reached the age at which she was considered less of a girl-child and more of a lady. When the time had come to begin to entertain suitors, Draco and his friends had all stepped forward, eager to see what relationship they could rekindle with the woman their friend had become.

Then again, who wouldn't want to win the hand of Lady Voldemort?

Pansy had smacked Draco across the face the first time he had made the mistake of saying that. He had stood there, gobsmacked, as her eyes flashed dangerously. He thought that he had grievously offended her, before she had hauled him off behind a pillar and hissed at him that if he wanted to keep his head, he wouldn't let anyone else hear him say that. They were still sixteen at the time, and in all of the times that Draco had overheard his father musing about Pansy's parentage over a firewhiskey with Robald Crabbe and the elder Theodore Nott, he had not realized that her paternity was something of a secret.

It was times like that, with Pansy scolding him for being an absolute dimwit, telling him that if he didn't pay more attention to the way things were that he wasn't going to live to see the year out, much less get to marry her- those were the times he felt the stirrings of what he thought were feelings for her. After that day, he had never again raised the question of her father, but a lot of things made a _lot_ more sense.

The way their leader watched her as she floated throughout the Great Hall during meals, making sure to entertain everyone for a short while but never linger too long with one group. The way Draco's father insisted that he spend time escorting Pansy around the grounds each spring, as if without his prodding, he would be loathe to be in the woman's company. Lucius didn't seem to understand that Pansy had an assortment of masks which she wore in public, and just because she wore a particularly unpleasant one with Lucius did not mean she donned the same one for his son.

Somehow, though Lucius had never broached the subject with Draco directly, both men were aware of the other's understanding on the matter. Draco had been made aware from a young age that his marriage would be a political affair, though his mother had always assured him that she would make sure that he was at least somewhat compatible with the women they chose for him to spend his life with. It may not be a fairytale romance, but he would not spend his days miserable.

The day he had asked Lord Voldemort for his daughter's hand in marriage was one of the most frightening in his memory. Lucius had insisted that he handle the matter himself, which Draco was loathe to do since it was hardly his decision. But he did respect Pansy, and there were a plethora of worse options out there for him, so if the worst thing he had to do was face down the half-mad leader of his country-

Alright, so it was still pretty bad. Unable to admit that he had figured out Pansy's parentage (after all, he hadn't been able to ask his father for the story behind any of it, and the more he thought about it, the _less_ he wanted to imagine Lord Voldemort coupling with the fearsome woman that was Lady Parkinson), he had to approach the situation as asking permission for his own union, as a member of his lordship's army. It was a bit of a risk, and to be frank, a terrifying one. A large glass of firewhiskey later, and he was seeking an audience with the supreme leader himself.

Draco shook his head, breaking himself out of his thoughts. There was no use reliving all of that. He had gotten permission to marry Pansy, after what had been a _very_ trying conversation which he had followed down with the rest of that firewhiskey alongside his best mates, both of whom were mourning their lost chances with the lady in question. The next morning, he had realized he ought to inform her of their good fortune and make things official.

But that had been over a year ago. It wasn't typical for engagements to last so long in the castle, and he could tell that his father had begun to get impatient. To be fair, it wasn't entirely Draco's fault. He legitimately was busy with tasks assigned to him as a valued member of his lordship's army, and with Blaise's recent disappearance, he had hardly spent any time at all in the castle. He didn't think that Pansy minded him being gone so much, but he actually didn't recall whether or not they had discussed the matter.

It wasn't as if he was fooling himself into thinking she was madly in love with him. She had been raised with the same knowledge as he had, and Draco wasn't being vain when he thought that she, too, could have had it worse. Theo and Blaise were great blokes, sure, but some of the others who had courted her weren't the kind of men he would have liked to see her end up with.

Perhaps his father was right. Perhaps he should be trying harder. Once his team had recovered Blaise, he would be able to focus on helping to arrange the wedding and spending some more time with his future wife. Until then, this Hermione Granger would have to keep her occupied in his stead.

Thinking of the Muggleborn witch brought another small smile to Draco's face as he stood, recalling their earlier altercation. He had encountered a number of her kind throughout his missions, but she had a fire to her that she would need to learn to contain in a place like this. Perhaps he would have Malkin send her to him after his next mission. She could use someone keeping an eye on her.


	4. Chapter 4

Lavinia was a sweet girl a year younger than Hermione who had been at the castle for nearly two years now. As she prepared Lady Pansy for dinner, she explained in quiet tones that the castle's other occupants typically dined separately from the nobility. With a huff, Lady Pansy insisted that the other two maids could see her down to dinner while Lavinia showed Hermione around and got her ready for their own meal. Hermione was subjected to a pointed glare by the lady before noticing that Lavinia had dipped into a curtsy as she prepared to leave the room.

Once the room had emptied, Hermione expected to be rushed along to their next destination, but Lavinia sat on one of the couches and patted the spot next to her. Hermione sat slowly, not noticing the other girl holding onto her hands until she glanced down into her lap.

"It's alright," said Lavinia soothingly, "you're alright. It gets easier. Lady Pansy can be a bit harsh, but she's not cruel. It could be a lot worse."

"Where are the others?" gasped Hermione. She wondered how long she had been crying. Why didn't she feel the tears running down her cheeks before now?

"It's hard to know," said Lavinia with a sad shrug. "The castle's rather large, and they try to separate you from who you came in with." After a brief pause, she said, "What camp were you with?"

Hermione shrugged, not looking at the girl.

"Fair enough," chuckled Lavinia. "You'll see some of your friends around eventually. The castle's large, but not _that_ large."

She stroked the back of Hermione's hands as she tried, talking in a pointedly calm voice as Hermione struggled to regain control of her breathing.

"We sleep in the same tower as Lady Pansy," continued Lavinia. "In older Pureblood societies, the lowerborn daughters would actually be serving as ladies maids, but this way it's a bit more spaced out. You'll see a lot of the other women here at court."

Hermione let out an undignified snort.

"It's really quite bizarre," admitted Lavinia softly. "There's talk of the war, sure, but life here just plucks along. Young don't see very many signs of it among the women. There are parties and balls, all kinds of banquets and socials events. We've gone down to the village a few times with Lady Pansy, when she's in the mood for a long walk when the weather is nice enough for it."

Hermione drew in a few shaky breaths. Sensing that she was trying to speak, Lavinia waited.

"Do the men come for you?" Hermione managed at last.

Another pause, this one longer and less comfortable than before.

"Sometimes," Lavinia admitted, and Hermione's chest constricted. "Again, it's better here than other stations, from what I've been told. Sleeping in the tower is safe, since we're so close to Lady Pansy and not many people want to risk bothering her, especially in her private chambers. But it's safer still to have some protection, friends in other areas. I've taken up with one of the curse-breakers. He's a decent fellow, and high enough up that the rest no longer bother me."

A small part of Hermione's brain recognized the fresh wave of tears washing down her cheeks, but the rest was flashing over images from back at camp. They warred with each other in her brain as they had for the past few years, flashes of eyes in emerald and brown.

"What if you have someone back home?" she whispered at last, her throat tied in knots around her words.

Lavinia squeezed her hands reassuringly and ducked her head until Hermione lifted her eyes to meet the kind brown ones seeking her out.

"Then you say a prayer for the camps each night," she breathed out, her words nearly faint enough to be missed, "and hold his name in your heart, and keep yourself healthy and whole until the day you can be together again."

Hermione could tell by the other woman's patience that this was not the first time she had been given the task of settling in someone newly taken. She did her best to pull herself together as quickly as possible, knowing that they probably had a finite amount of time in which to report to dinner and not wanting the other woman to go hungry because of her. As soon as her mind landed on the thought of food, her stomach finally caught up with the events of the day and began to grumble. She had eaten a hard roll that morning, but a hearty meal had been planned for after the gatherers had returned. It was a camp tradition which they had all taken for granted.

Lavinia led the way to the dining hall, pausing outside and lifting a hand to the edge of the doorway. There was an assortment of symbols carved into the stone.

"This is ours," explained the witch, tapping a simple closed ring with her finger. "Your necklace will change when Lady Pansy has a chance to give you her mark, but all of us have the same base. Closed circle- from dust to dust. It's supposedly a reminder of our mortality."

"My collar," murmured Hermione, lifting a hand to the metal around her neck. Until now, it had been forgotten.

"Necklace," said Lavinia pointedly. "Her ladyship insists. I'll teach you the rest of the symbols when I can. It's how you'll be able to find your way around this place."

Hermione's eyes anxiously scanned the dining hall when they entered, but she was disappointed to find it far smaller than she had expected for how large she took the castle to be.

"We eat in shifts," explained Lavinia as they sat, "and there are a few different halls for all of the servants."

When it looked like Hermione was going to object to the term, Lavinia glanced at the wall. There was a gleaming mirror hanging opposite the table. Its metal frame matched the rest of the decor of the room, but something about the looking glass stuck out anyway as Hermione allowed her eyes to linger on it for a long moment.

"We'll get your things from Madam Malkin after dinner," continued Lavinia. "She says she's only in charge of our wardrobe, but I get the feeling she keeps most of the household running."

"I got that feeling as well," said Hermione.

They fell into a comfortable silence as they ate. Each time someone entered the room, Hermione lifted her head, only to be disappointed when it wasn't someone she recognized. Part of her mind was reviewing the past few years, trying to think about who had been lost from her camp that she might still find alive.

She knew that the resistance was vast, and part of its security meant that no one person had the full total of its members, or even a count on all of its camps. She supposed Harry had a better idea of the scale of the operation. Hermione quickly dismissed this thought, as thinking about Harry was far too painful.

But the fact that she hadn't seen _anyone_ from the Black Phoenix camp was truly a surprise to her. They hadn't suffered an attack like today's previously, but losing a member or two over time was a grim fact of the war they were fighting. Often it was impossible to find out what had happened to them. Some people defected, opting to spend their lives on the run, or hiding away and giving up their magic rather than fighting for the use of it. Some were killed but never found no matter how much they were searched for. And some had to be taken here.

The other two women who were attending Pansy (" _Lady_ Pansy," Lavinia softly corrected Hermione each time she forgot the honorific) joined them for dinner, introducing themselves as Shea and Margot. Hermione got the feeling that exchanging any kind of personal information was discouraged, and anything relating to their time before the castle expressly forbidden, so they did their best to pretend that Hermione had just appeared in their midst that afternoon and filled her in on their current state of affairs. Neither of the other women inquired as to which camp she had previously belonged to, or how many had been taken alongside her.

"I don't think her ladyship will need to keep four of us around," said Shea, wiping her lips with a napkin as she pushed her emptied plate away. "Three seems suitable. It's not like Captain Malfoy knows how many helpers a lady really needs."

The women exchanged a wry look, some inside joke to which Hermione was not privy.

"And it will be five once Opal returns from the village," Lavinia reminded them. "Perhaps Lady Pansy will allow her to remain and help with her sister's children for a time."

The others "hmm"d in agreement.

"I might ask for a transfer," admitted Shea softly. "It's not- her ladyship is fine and all, but I think I'd like to be in the kitchens for a change."

For reasons unknown to her, the other women glanced to Hermione after Shea's statement. She looked around, baffled.

"That sounds nice," said Hermione uncertainly.

"As long as Hermione here works out, I don't see why not," said Lavinia with a soft smile. "Fingers crossed for you, Shea."

Hermione opened her mouth to ask a question, but seeing the small shake of Lavinia's head, closed it again.

After dinner they went to see Madam Malkin once more, who was ready with a new set of dresses for Hermione, all in royal blue. Hermione again attempted to pay attention to her surroundings, but found herself unable to trace her steps back from Madam Malkin's room (which she swore was in a different location from only hours earlier).

She was not expected to help prepare Lady Pansy for bed that evening, owing to the fact that she had absolutely no idea what was expected of her in that regard. Lavinia promised to use mealtimes to explain the basic tasks of a lady's maid, which she said weren't that bad once you adjusted to them. So far, Lavinia had spent most of her time with Hermione insisting that things weren't going to be "that bad."

But as darkness fell, Hermione found that hard to believe. She had been shown to her room, which, beyond her expectations, was outfitted with a small bed and a plain wooden set of drawers in which to keep her things. There was one closet running along the far wall of the room she was to share with the other lady's maids in which they hung their dresses to keep them wrinkle-free, and a low shelf on which to store their shoes.

Hermione sat on the edge of her bed, hearing the creak of the springs and feeling tears well in her eyes again. Life at camp was such that she did not always have a bed. They were on the move, and thought sometimes she would be in disguise at an inn and sleep in a luxurious bed that would tempt to swallow her whole, there would be weeks of cots covered in homemade blankets, wrapped around herself and another warm body.

It wasn't a bed, it wasn't a castle, it wasn't a set of drawers or a soft dress or a silver necklace, or even some nights a hot meal sitting full in her belly, but it was home. It was what she had spent her whole life fighting for.

The worst part of it was that she couldn't say that she didn't stop and think about her decision to report to the battlefield this morning. When the first report came back about the attack on the gathering party, her heart had sunk and she had run the numbers in her head. With most of their Healers out helping the Crimson Thestral camp after a recent fire had left them decimated, she knew that one extra set of hands would make the difference between some of her friends making it home and dying out in the fields.

So Hermione had pulled on her favorite boots (now probably burnt to a crisp in whatever rubbish system the castle was using) and left her tent, tying her hair back from her face as she went. Harry had been standing with two of his officers- both older men wearing the no-nonsense expressions she had grown up seeing on the faces on all of the adults around camp. Now that she was one of them, she understood why.

"One more Healer," she had said, her words directly to the officers but her eyes meeting Harry's. He groaned in frustration and shook his head.

"Hermione-"

"Calculated risk," she had said simply before leaning in and giving him a swift peck on the lips.

The memory burned at her like it was venom seeping through her brain, through her veins, through every inch of her body. How easily she had swept away his concern. She hadn't even bothered issuing a full promise of her return- it had been implied in the easy way she had walked away from him. She didn't want to imagine how Harry had reacted upon finding out about the second wave of attacks after the Healers had arrived. She could only hope that the others could keep his impulsivity under control so that his rage wouldn't get anyone killed.

As for her own situation, she knew she had to take Lavinia's advice. Though she was still crying, her brain had begun to slow down and process her situation. She was actually in the heart of the enemy's operations. There had to be a way for her to use this to her advantage. She was Hermione Granger, for crying out loud! She would find that way.

It was another beneficial part of having their operations so scattered- no one bothered knowing any name besides Harry Potter. She knew that the other side was aware he was involved with someone, because they had made sure of leaking that information. As soon as the mission to recover the prophecy had been successful and Harry had heard what it said, that plan had been agreed upon. Lord Voldemort's camp still had no idea that destiny had written that it was to be both Harry and Hermione, side by side, to defeat him.

Her heart gave a sad little leap at that thought, the way it always did when she lingered on thoughts of the prophecy. Agreeing to be the lifelong partner of your best friend was hardly a difficult decision to make as a frightened fifteen-year old happy to cling to something familiar. As a twenty-three year old woman, however, coming to terms with the fact that you were supposed to be marrying a man that you were not in love with was… difficult. Made more difficult by the fact that they were in the midst of a bloody _war_ , and now was _not_ the time for her to be thinking selfish thoughts like "I want to get to marry someone I'm actually in love with and not just because some silly old hag in a crystal ball said this is what's supposed to happen!"

Hermione had been flattered. She had been honored. Upon hearing the prophecy herself, she had understood the conclusion that Harry (along with the others, because at fifteen years old, he was certainly _not_ running their camp, nor any other) had come to. And sure, for a time she imagined that they would end up falling for each other like some storybook romance.

But she kissed him out of duty, in front of their friends and peers, because when she did, in inspired something within their ranks that no one could put a finger on. When people saw Harry holding her hand and smiling at her, they saw their figurehead as a man with hopes and dreams of his own who would continue to fight for _their_ hopes and dreams, _their_ families and loved ones. When they went back to their tent each night, people watched and sighed, murmuring things about young love and how wonderful it was that in a time like this, love was finding a way through.

Having changed into one of her nightdresses (this time midnight blue- Hermione was shocked at Madam Malkin's dedication to the color scheme of each assignment) and curled up in her bed. First she lay on top of the blankets, not wanting to let herself get comfortable. After a bit of tossing and turning, she relented, sliding under the comforter and feeling the slide of the sheets against her skin. She took the spare pillow and folded it against her back. It wasn't as luxurious as some of the places she had managed to stay along her travels, but it was a far cry from her cot.

Closing her eyes, she adjusted to the eerie silence of the room. She knew it would sound different once the other women returned from their duties, but she was the only one to have been dismissed so early, and she was too tired to wait up. For tonight, she would have to make do with only the sound of her own breathing to lull her to sleep.

She pressed into the pillow at her back, letting her body heat seep into it and pretending it had warmth of its own.

"Tell me a story, Harry," she whispered, feeling pathetic as tears began to leak from her eyes once more.

In her head, she pulled up a memory of one of the inns they had stayed at while gathering information on a blood purist trading point not too far from here. They had been posing under a series of glamour charms as a recently married couple, and the delighted inn owner had upgraded them to the honeymoon suite for no extra charge. They had gotten a proper wash, and then another just to soak in the never-ending supply of hot water, a luxury not often afforded on the road.

Once they were dry, they had sprawled out in the enormous bed, limbs overlapping as they stretched out in every direction. They ate dinner in their disguises, but when it was time to sleep, they removed the charms and curled up next to each other as they did most nights. Hermione was feeling more relaxed than she had in months, and she could tell that Harry was in an unusually good mood, even though they were on a mission. Usually he was uptight until they returned to camp, but the unexpected luxury of this trip was allowing him to relax.

"Tell me a story," she had said.

He had propped himself up on his elbow so he could peer over at her, looking perplexed.

"Like a fairytale?" Harry asked.

"Sure," said Hermione. "Anything, really. I just want to hear you talk so I can sleep. It's too quiet here."

Harry's eyes softened in understanding. And he spoke for what could have been minutes and what could have been hours. Hermione faded in and out of listening to him, picking up on bits and pieces of what he was saying. It didn't seem to be a linear story, at least the way she had listened to it. If there was a narrative thread, it was lost to her as she dozed off. But he made sure that he didn't stop talking until she was fast asleep, and most likely kept it up for long after out of fear of waking her.

"Tell me a story, Harry," Hermione murmured now, forcing her brain to fill in sounds of his voice and the smell of his skin so she could try to get some sleep in this foreign place. She wasn't sure it would work, but when she opened her eyes there was light coming in through the window, and the pillow from behind her was laying on the ground. Smiling wryly, she picked it up, gave it a kiss, and set it back on her bed before going to get changed.


	5. Chapter 5

Hermione's first full day in the castle turned into her first week before she could catch her breath. She spent most of her time with Lady Pansy, though each day held something different for the woman. During the times when the lady decided to leaf through some old poetry in the castle's library, Lavinia drew Hermione aside to a different table and continued explaining the various symbols found around the castle.

"The flower thing is overdone, but I don't think she has much of a say in that," murmured Lavinia, tracing the outline of the flower denoting that they were both members of Lady Pansy's personal staff. The pendant on Hermione's collar has been magically engraved during her first full day in the castle and now bore the same mark as the other women. "Comes with the name, I suppose."

Hermione studied the symbols, committing them to memory as quickly as possible. Some denoted job assignments within the castle, which varied more than she had anticipated. Lord Voldemort had his own team of resident curse-breakers, astrologers, divinists, potioneers, and a number of other specialties- and that was entirely separate from the teams that were sent outside of the castle on missions. She learned that some groups specialized in raids like the one that had taken her, while higher officers like Captain Malfoy also led missions to gather intelligence.

"This means you have personal audience clearance," continued Lavinia, sketching out the next symbol on the spare parchment Lady Pansy had agreed to provide them. "You won't see that often, just with the highest officers and members of staff. It means they've been cleared to speak with His Lordship one-on-one."

Lavinia's eyes darkened but her voice remained steady, not showing any other signs of distress at the deference she was required to show to the master of the castle.

Hermione continued to take her meals with the others in the servants' hall, taking that time to get to know the other lady's maids. As she had hoped, Shea was transferred to the kitchen staff and was assigned to a later meal time, leaving Lavinia and Margot to explain the lay of the castle. They carefully navigated around touchy subjects, never openly asking each other about what they had done before Hogwarts. As Hermione became a part of their group, the ladies finally hinted that Shea had wanted the transfer so she would be closer to her sweetheart.

They were in the middle of dinner at the end of Hermione's first week when her routine was broken. Halfway through the meal, one of the black-clad serving staff hurried into the servants' dining hall, making a beeline for their small group.

"Lady Pansy needs something from her chambers," the man said, looking between the ladies maids anxiously.

"Alright?" said Hermione.

"Only her personal servants can enter if she's not there," said Lavinia with a sigh. "Our c- our necklaces are spelled for entry. Hermione, do you mind?"

"Sure," said Hermione, rising from the table. She knew it was time for her to take more responsibility- Lavinia had been patient as she learned, but Hermione knew the other woman had been taking on much more than her share of their daily tasks after Shea's departure as Hermione adjusted to her new life.

Apparently Lady Pansy had forgotten that she had promised to give one of the other ladies an old necklace of hers, which was already neatly wrapped in a box on her dressing table. Hermione spotted it immediately as the serving man shifted uncomfortably in the corridor. She tried to hand it to him, but he held back, gesturing in the direction of the grand dining hall.

"I'm not really supposed to talk to her," he said, his cheeks tinged pink. "She threw a shoe at me to get my attention last time."

Hermione's mouth popped open in surprise. From what she had seen, Lady Pansy adhered closely to her noble upbringing. She could not imagine the woman tossing one of her tiny heels across the dining hall- at least, not when anyone would be able to see her do it.

Her stomach dropped as she entered the dining hall, eyes widening as she took in the enormous room. Lengthy tables wrapped around the edges, lined with women in what she now knew to be semi-casual dining gowns and men in open linen robes. They chatted amiably as silent figures clad in black refilled goblets of wine and small dishes of soup. Hermione tried to keep herself from openly gaping as she followed the servant to where Lady Pansy sat, but stumbled to a halt a few feet away.

Three seats away from her mistress was an ornately-wrought chair sat at the head of the winding table. The twisting metal was made of what looked to be silver and glinted with green gems along the sides. Sitting there was a man with black hair glossed to one side of his head and deep hazel eyes gazing inquiringly into her own. His skin had the same pallor as Captain Malfoy's, but Hermione knew without asking that the men were not related. She knew who this was.

After the years of fighting and the loss of so many loved ones, Hermione had imagined that when she stared into Lord Voldemort's eyes, she would see the monster who was insistent on destroying her world. Instead, she found a man who looked at her with vague curiosity, lacking the malice and cruelty she had thought would be inherent in his gaze.

He had an oddly ageless quality about him. As she continued to stare, she realized she wouldn't have been able to tell Harry if the man before her was their age or many years their senior. There had been conflicting reports on the methodology the man used to maintain his youth, but Hermione knew by looking at him that it was unnatural, even by magical standards. This was no simple glamour charm.

The other servant grabbed her arm and tugged her forward, breaking Hermione out of her unintentional staring contest with Lord Voldemort himself. It took her a few more steps to realize what she had been doing.

"My lady," she whispered, curtsying as Lady Pansy looked over her shoulder.

"Ah, the necklace," said Lady Pansy, grabbing the box. "Daphne, this is my new girl. Now give this to Tori, it'll look lovely with her complexion and she'll forget about those ghastly earrings you misplaced."

The woman beside Lady Pansy spared a brief glance at Hermione before taking the box with a practiced smile. Hermione lingered for a moment, forcing herself to keep her eyes on the women before her as much as she wanted to lift them and examine the rest of the room before her. Lavinia had explained court protocol, but even she didn't need to tell Hermione that staring down the leader of the Purebloods, particularly when he was surrounded by his sycophants, was bad form.

When Lady Pansy lifted a hand and gave it a dainty wave, Hermione curtsied again and ducked away from the table. She thought she could feel eyes on her as she made her way out of the room, but perhaps it was only her imagination.

xXxXxXxXxxxXxXx

When Draco had submitted his official request for Blaise's rescue mission, he had been met with surprise at the numbers he had requested. He had been called to meet with his father yet again, once more finding himself down the narrow wooden table from Lucius as he paced, his walking stick clicking on the marble floor.

"You're only asking to bring along four other men," said Lucius after a prolonged silence, turning to look Draco dead in the eye. "You cannot legitimately think this is sufficient."

"It is for this mission," said Draco simply.

"If Blaise is still being held by this rabble-"

"He is," interjected Draco.

"-then he is a highly-valued prisoner," continued Lucius, shaking his head. "It will take more than five men to bring his safe return. Which I was under the impression that _you_ valued."

"Four men," corrected Draco,

Lucius glanced at the table, as if expecting to find the written mission request form laying before him.

"Four men and one woman," clarified Draco with a smirk. "I assure you, that will be more than sufficient."

Lucius' eyes narrowed and he resumed his pacing. Draco settled back into his chair, knowing that his father would bide his time this way until he was ready to give Draco his permission to leave.

It was rather tiring, working directly under his father, but thus was the hierarchy of Lord Voldemort's army. Draco had managed to ascend through the ranks at a speed unparalleled by any of his peers, largely owing to his determination to eventually outrank even his father. That time had yet to come, which meant that when he required permission to stage his own missions, he needed to go through Lucius. Thankfully this was not a common occurrence.

"If you fail-"

"I will not fail," snapped Draco, adding a sarcastic, " _sir_ ," after a moment.

"Have it your way," said Lucius with a raised brow. "Zabini is an emotional attachment, not a military advantage for us. Try not to bring along anyone too important for when this goes south."

Lucius' official permission was the last hurdle Draco had to face in his planning. He had already chosen his team, and in anticipation of his father's eventual relenting, he had also picked the following afternoon to stage the mission. Following breakfast, he met with the others in the entrance hall and took stock of their supplies.

"This should be more than enough," said Theo Nott, rifling through a small duffle bag on the ground. When he straightened up, he was a full two inches taller than even Draco, who was unaccustomed to being around anyone to whom he had to physically look up. They had been friends for years, but it was still a disconcerting feeling. "I packed a few extra, just in case."

Caster and Icarus were decked out in full battle gear, including some flashy pieces that Draco would have never approved for an actual confrontation. Caster had added a gleaming silver wand holster to his belt, and around Icarus' neck hung a gangle of gaudy chains, which Draco realized were decorated with teeth.

"Nice jewelry," said Draco with a sneer.

"Thanks, Cap," said Icarus with a grin.

Amarla was standing with her hands propped on her waist, managing to look lovely even while wearing a scowl. Her golden hair lay in curls down her back, and she was dressed in a flowing white dress instead of her typical training garments. No wonder she looked so miserable.

"Can we get a move on?" she snapped. "This thing itches."

"Doesn't look itchy," said Caster, reaching out to stroke a finger down Amarla's hip with a grin. "You should dress like this more often."

Amarla smiled dangerously, and Draco decided to intervene before his team members began going at it in one way or another.

"Let's focus," he said. "I'd like to be there and back as quickly as possible. Amarla, you can fly like that?"

She offered him the same dangerous grin she had shot towards Caster, which he took as confirmation.

"Theo, make sure those are secure for the trip. Don't need anything smashing on the way."

Draco pretended not to see Theo's rolling eyes as he turned, not having the time to spare on reprimanding him for the disrespect. His father would never let anyone, even a friend, forget to show him the deference he was owed, but Draco was pleased to say he was not his father.

They took their brooms off of the castle grounds, Amarla shooting ahead of the men, eager to prove that she could fly circles around them even in a dress. Draco pushed forward to fly by her side ten minutes into their flight, reminding her that she didn't have their flight path and therefore could not lead their group. Another twenty minutes saw them landing behind a large outcropping of rocks and tucking their brooms out of sight beneath a boulder.

"We'll be walking from here," said Draco, taking a swig of water from his bottle before stowing it away among the rocks. "Should be about an hour."

Each of the party members Disillusioned themselves before stepping out of the rock formation. Draco had previously explored the area on his own on a bit of an unofficial mission to make sure he was fully prepared. The cottage where Blaise was being held was in the midst of a field, which had made observation difficult but infiltration ideal. Trees would have made spying on the house's occupants far easier, but slipping inside far more difficult.

Draco gave a soft whistle when he saw the house come into view up ahead. A moment later, Icarus and Caster shimmered into view, gripping their wands and giving each other a sharp nod of acknowledgement. They had all gone over the plan in detail over the past week, so there was little use for speaking now.

Caster's free hand lay casually by his side, counting down from five. When it reached one, Amarla shifted into view ahead of them, her dress flapping out behind her. She was sprinting across the field, hair whipping out around her as she began to scream. Chuckling darkly, Icarus and Caster began to give pursuit, followed silently by the invisible Draco and Theo.

"Help!" howled Amarla, her voice carrying across the field leading to the house. "Please, somebody!"

Icarus shot off a Stunner, which went licking through Amarla's curls but missed her by inches. Caster's matching spell went wide of her legs.

Draco knew that they were rapidly approaching the invisible barrier surrounding the cottage, through which none of them would be able to enter. This was one of the cruxes upon which the plan was hinged.

Amarla continued to cry out, and as they drew closer to the small house, Draco spied an upstairs window popping open. A woman popped her head out, then quickly retreated, snapping the window shut behind her. _Come on, human nature_.

Caster's next spell caught Amarla's foot, sending her sprawling towards where Draco knew the invisible barrier to be. She scrambled to her feet, lunging forward once more and trying to close the distance between herself and whatever safety might be inside the house. Draco's pace slowed to a jog, his focus locked on the front door.

 _Hurry up_.

As if able to hear his words the cottage's front door slammed open, revealing a man with shaggy red hair tied back with a leather thong. He sent a Stunner into Icarus' chest before the man could even raise his wand against the attack. Caster attempted to retaliate, forgetting about (or feigning ignorance of) the shield before him. He ducked as the bright blue light of his own spell flashed back towards him, and a moment later fell backwards, knocked unconscious by the man still framed in the doorway.

"Thank you!" sobbed Amarla, stumbling forwards and reaching towards the wizard. "I was so afraid!"

"Are you alright?" asked the man, finally stepped out towards her.

Amarla hurried towards him but ran into the barrier. She fell backwards a step then looked around, feigning confusion.

"Sorry," said the man, "here." With a sweeping motion of his wand and a few muttered words, he gestured her forward. "You're good now. It's just for security. Come on, let's get you cleaned up. My wife should be home soon, she'll give you one of her dresses. Yours is probably beyond saving. What happened?"

Amarla's expression froze for a moment at the word _wife_ , and Draco's stomach plunged. This could create a small hitch in their plans.

"I went out for a walk and wandered a bit far from the village," said Amarla, her voice wavering, "and those- those _brutes_ set upon me! I tried to turn back but I got lost, and- and I was just so scared!"

She ran towards the man and flung herself into his arms, sobbing dramatically. The wizard, to his credit, did not seem terribly thrown-off by her behavior. He must have been around a good deal of emotional women to tolerate what Draco thought was a high level of nonsense.

"It's alright," said the man, patting Amarla's back. "Come on, we'll make some tea. You know it's not safe to be outside alone, right?"

Amarla gave a long sniff and pulled back, keeping her face a hair's breadth away from the wizard's.

"Thank you," she sighed, a smile dancing across her lips before leaning in and pressing them to his. The wizard's eyes widened in shock and he froze for a moment before pulling away from Amarla.

"I- you're welcome," he stammered, taking a full step back towards the house. "But I- my wife will be right back, so please just- just-"

He wiped his forehead, which was suddenly damp with sweat. He glanced at his hand, then back at the beautiful blonde before him, mouth opening and closing wordlessly.

"Something the matter?" she asked sweetly, stepping closer once more

The man staggered towards the house, swaying slightly on his feet as he grabbed the door. "Fleur!" he croaked, his foot catching on the doorframe. He crashed to his knees, barely catching himself before he smashed his face into the wooden beams of the entryway. "Get- get Fleur- get-"

With one last breath, the man was out cold.

Draco felt something brush past him- Theo, still invisible, moving on to the next phase. A moment later, the doorway was engulfed with puffs of dark purple smoke. Draco heard the tinkering of shattering glass, undoubtably the vials Theo had packed in his duffle bag. He waited patiently, watching as Amarla used a scrap of her dress to wipe off the remnants of her lipstick.

"Clear," Theo called from within the cottage.

Draco used his wand to wave a clear path through the smoke, not intent on inhaling any of the remnants of the potion spreading through the air. He stepped over the body of the wizard who had believed to perform the daring rescue of Amarla and into what seemed to be a quaint sitting room. A blonde woman was stretched out awkwardly in the center of the room, wide blue eyes gazing unseeingly towards the ceiling. One of her hands was reaching towards the front door, still grasping her wand.

"I've got him in here," called Theo from another room. Draco followed his voice down a hallway and into a small bedroom where Blaise's unconscious body was draped over a desk chair. There was a book drifting closed on the table before him and a plate with a partially-eaten sandwich pushed to the side next to a mug of still-steaming tea.

"Cozy," remarked Theo dryly, looking to Draco with a confused look.

"Not much different from the castle," said Draco with a shrug. "Guess they didn't see him as much of a threat."

"The door wasn't even locked," said Theo, shaking his head.

"Not from the outside."

"Still-"

"We need to leave," said Draco sharply. "We can discuss this at the debriefing. I'll take Blaise, you get out there and revive Icarus and Caster. And grab some water for Amarla, I think she almost swallowed some of that lipstick of hers when Caster tripped her."

Theo nodded and left Draco alone with his unconscious friend. Contrary to what he had told Theo, Draco took a moment to look around the room, taking in the unexpected details. Blaise had a large, comfortable bed, as well as a small collection of books. On the corner of the table was a fist-sized rock that looked like it was halfway carved into an animal of some kind. On a whim, Draco pocketed it before casting a Weightlessness Charm on Blaise and lifting him over his shoulder.

Amarla was sipping on a glass of water when he emerged from the cottage, shooting annoyed glances at the black-clad men as Theo revived them. Caster rubbed his head as he sad up, frowning as he brushed the dirt out of his hair.

"You tripped me," she said accusingly as Caster stood.

"Ah, c'mon, I was just-"

"You're sleeping on the couch tonight," snapped Amarla, turning on her heels and starting back off into the field. Icarus gave Caster a sympathetic shrug and began to follow her.

"You're the one who agreed to kiss the ginger blood traitor!" cried Caster indignantly, setting off after his girlfriend.

Theo chuckled, hoisting his duffle bag over his shoulder and sweeping an arm out for Draco to go before him. Securing Blaise's position over his shoulder, Draco began the walk back towards the rock fixture, not sparing another thought for the unconscious rebels in the house behind them.


	6. Chapter 6

Hermione was called from the library by Madam Malkin in the middle of another lazy afternoon. Lady Pansy regarded the woman curiously and looked like she was going to question her ability to remove one of her serving women, but instead shrugged and looked back to the book she was skimming through.

"Your presence has been requested by Captain Malfoy," said Madam Malkin, flicking her hand towards the steaming basin hovering next to the library doors. As they began to walk together, the basin followed, the water sloshing back and forth but never spilling over the edges of the container.

They arrived in the same chamber where Hermione had last seen the captain. It looked much the same, except the man himself was nowhere to be seen.

"He'll be here shortly," said Madam Malkin, seeing how Hermione was glancing around.

And then she was simply left on her own! Hermione did her best to not feel offended, but the level of trust they had shown her so far was truly ludicrous. She understood that she had somehow been classified as a low-risk prisoner, but when she wasn't attending to Lady Pansy, she was allowed an absurd amount of freedom throughout the castle. She had made great strides in finding her way around; Lavinia's lessons in the markings on each doorway were certainly helping.

She now took the opportunity to take in Captain Malfoy's chambers. Her last visit had been disconcerting and her mind had not been at its analytical best. Keeping a wary eye on the door, Hermione moved quickly to the large desk, peering down at the stacks of parchment. She was only able to take in the first few words of the topmost sheaf before a thick wave of dizziness overcame her.

Hermione attempted to blink through the sudden haze as a small part of her brain recognized her body hitting the floor. The stars slowly began to clear from her vision and the ringing in her ears retreated just in time for all of her senses to realize the door was opened, then shut.

"Having a disagreement with my desk?" said Captain Malfoy, giving Hermione a curious look as he crossed the room.

Hermione pushed to her feet, smoothing down her dress and thinking of what explanation she could provide that would sound at least partially plausible. Before she could speak, she saw Captain Malfoy's eyes land on the parchments still on his desk. To her surprise, he chuckled, running a hand along the edge of the wood.

"Ah," he said, glancing back at Hermione, "you're a curious one, aren't you?"

"Should have eaten more at breakfast," said Hermione with an innocent smile. His lack of anger made her more comfortable attempting the falsehood. "Must have grown faint."

"These will do that to you," said Captain Malfoy- Draco, Hermione mentally corrected herself. She didn't have to keep to any of their army's titles, at least not in her own head.

She made busy work out of unfolding and refolding the small towels laid out beside the wash basin, glancing at Draco when she thought him to be looking away. His light hair was plastered to the sides of his head with sweat, and before he removed his shirt, that too clung to him like a second skin. There were no signs of blood this time, which was perhaps why he was in such a good mood.

Hermione decided to risk asking him as much as he settled into the chair before her. He looked down, surprised at the question, then grinned. The smile he gave her was surprising- it was a boy's smile, not that of a war-hardened man. It seemed entirely unrelated to the smirks she had seen occupy his face previously.

"Rescue mission," he said easily, and again Hermione had to wonder if they truly _never_ thought anyone in the castle might escape with useful information. "Didn't lose anyone on my team, and got one of my best- best men back." If he stumbled on the phrasing, Hermione pretended not to notice.

"No casualties?" she asked, keeping her eyes on the cloth as she wrung out the excess water before beginning to rub the arm closest to where she knelt.

"Casualties? No _injuries_ ," he said boisterously. "A plan perfectly executed."

After a long moment of silence, Hermione could feel Draco's eyes on her. She fought the automatic urge to meet his gaze, instead continuing her path along his chest. It was, at least, an excuse to keep her head tilted down.

"None on either side," he clarified at last, and Hermione felt a knot loosen in her chest that she hadn't been consciously aware of.

"A plan perfectly executed indeed," she said, finally meeting his pale eyes with a small smile of her own.

As Hermione continued to work, Draco talked, and Hermione was disturbingly reminded of some of her friends back at the Black Phoenix camp. After a successful mission, they would often unwind with a rare drink of whatever someone had managed to procure and talk until their voices were hoarse.

"We'll be having a ball to celebrate Blaise's return," continued Draco, not seeming to mind that Hermione was largely silent throughout. "Just as soon as he's up for it. He was still unconscious when I dropped him with the Healers."

"Unconscious but unharmed?" Hermione asked.

"Looked that way to me," said Draco, his face growing a bit more serious. "I had one of our Battle Healers with us, just in case, but he seemed in good sorts. We just knocked everyone in the cottage out using some of Theo's potions instead of bothering with a duel."

The cottage.

The towel slipped through Hermione's fingers, landing with a small plop in the water basin. It took Draco a moment to notice that she had frozen, and a moment longer for Hermione to break herself out of her ill-timed reverie.

He said there weren't any injuries. Bill and Fleur would leave as soon as they woke, they would never be foolish enough to remain if their location was compromised. Then again, it was supposed to be a safe house where Fleur could wait out the majority of her pregnancy. Bill had insisted, and Fleur had agreed solely on the term that he would remain in safety with her. If she wasn't going to take any chances for the sake of their child, neither was he.

"I'm sorry," breathed Hermione automatically, grabbing the cloth from the water once more. "I, ah- you must be very happy to have your friend back."

"Yes," murmured Draco. If Hermione had looked up, she would have seen the frown creasing his forehead and the way his eyes were stuck on her face, no longer obscured by her hair as it had been on her first day. Lady Pansy had insisted that Lavinia help Hermione with styling, and though Hermione did not wish her hair to be braided like Lavinia's, it was now pinned back from her face each morning.

She did not look up.

Once Draco's torso was thoroughly washed, Hermione used the second towel to dry him off. She still wished to look around his chambers, but after her encounter with the protective charms on his notes, she realized she would have to be more careful with how she went about it. Part of her hoped that he would go out on another mission soon so that she would have an excuse to return, but that meant more of her friends and allies in danger.

"I'm sure Lady Pansy will be missing you," said Draco after Hermione dropped both towels in the water. "Leave that here, I'll Banish it back to Malkin's."

Hermione nodded, recognizing the clear dismissal. She spared one glance backwards before closing the door behind her, catching a glimpse of Draco circling behind his desk, looking at the stacked parchment once more.

Lady Pansy was still with the others in the library when Hermione returned. There was a small stack of rejected books besides her parchment, and the noblewoman did not look up from her writing as Hermione returned to her previous seat.

"I'm glad she didn't keep you too long," said Lady Pansy after about ten minutes of silence. She capped her inkwell and finally looked over at the table where Hermione sat with Lavinia and Margot. "I wanted to go for a walk before we eat again and couldn't precisely leave without you."

"Sorry," murmured Hermione, wondering what part of walking around the castle desperately required all three of the lady's personal servants.

"So long as Malkin's not disrupting my schedule to have you do the mending," said Lady Pansy with a tight smile. "She has other girls for that."

"Yes, my lady," said Hermione, unsure of if this was the woman's way of asking what Hermione had been called away to do. Even with her quiet lessons on interacting with the castle's occupants courtesy of Lavinia (and her own knowledge of such things), she was uncertain of if was proper to specify that she had been washing the sweat off of her ladyship's fiancée.

No, that seemed like some kind of misstep.

All thoughts of Captain Malfoy flew out of Hermione's head as she followed Lady Pansy down the wide main stairs of the castle into what must be its entry hall. When Lady Pansy had said she intended to go on a walk, Hermione had simply assumed she meant around the expansive castle. She didn't realize they were going outside.

She hadn't been outside since she had been captured. Her heart beat against her breastbone as if pushing forward into the emerging sunlight. She nearly plowed into Lady Pansy's back as the woman stopped and turned to her three servants, wand drawn. There was a brief flicker of panic before Hermione saw what she was doing. Looking bored with the motion, Lady Pansy gave each of the others' collars a swift tap with the tip of her wand, then stowed it back inside a hidden pocket of her gown.

"Some of your kind are out here regularly for their work assignments," said Lady Pansy as she stepped into the sunlight, "but the enchantments vary based on assigned duties. You'll need someone to give permission each time you want to visit the grounds, including on free hours."

Hermione attempted to school her face into the peaceful, unaffected countenance that Lavinia and Margot had seemingly perfected, but there was something so twisted in the casual way that Lady Pansy had said that. _Some of your kind_.

Lady Pansy turned, sharp green eyes falling on Hermione. There was a challenge in those eyes, some test that Hermione wanted to rise to the occasion of, but she couldn't tell in what way this woman was judging her. She took a deep breath and plastered on a small smile, hoping it didn't show the cracks she felt around the edges.

"Yes, my lady."

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Pansy tried not to snap at Daphne over dinner, but it was incredibly difficult when she had just learned that Blaise was back in the castle. It was Pansy's fiancée who was in charge of the rescue efforts, but somehow Daph had heard first. It soothed her nerves a bit to hear that Blaise was still recovering and not yet seeing anyone; at least she hadn't been beaten to the punch on visiting him as well.

As soon as she could slip away from the end of the meal, Pansy trotted down to the servants' dining hall. She knew there were others scattered around the kitchens, but her ladies always ate in the one next to the portrait of Old Winnifred. Pansy paused for a moment in the corridor, realizing that they would have only eaten a portion of their meals since she had departed from her own early, and then banished the thought. It wasn't as if she couldn't call for an evening tea if needed.

As Pansy entered, the servants scattered around the room pushed to their feet, some covering their mouths with their napkins. She appreciated the attempt at propriety. Her girls were close to the door, which saved Pansy the need of picking her way through the hall.

"I require an escort," said Pansy succinctly, looking over her three ladies maids. "Hermione, you were called away before, so you can join me now. Lavinia, Margot, your evening is free. Don't get into trouble."

Hermione exchanged a look with the other two which Pansy pretended not to notice. It was only fitting that the new girl be the one to accompany her, she decided, whether she missed part of the meal or not.

Her silence, however, was a bit unnerving. Pansy found herself glancing at her companion as they strode through the castle, heading towards Blaise's chambers. When she was alone with Lavinia or Margot, she hardly noticed their presence. Shea had had some type of nervous energy which Pansy had found grating, and was relieved when the girl asked to be sent to the kitchens instead of remaining in her service. She may have the reputation for going through serving women on a regular basis, but it wasn't her fault that people kept being _given_ to her!

But Hermione's presence was not one easily ignored. She looked about the corridors when she must have assumed Pansy not to be watching, with an examining gaze she rarely saw in her servants. She seemed intelligent, which was irritating seeing as how she was just picked up in a raid.

Not intelligent enough to not get caught, thought Pansy dismissively, so perhaps not so intelligent after all.

Pansy rapped upon Blaise's door, smirking upon hearing his groan from within. At least he was awake. Not needing further permission, she swung the heavy door open, leaving Hermione to follow behind her.

"My dear Lord Zabini," she announced as she swept into the room, "what have you gotten yourself into this time?"

To Blaise's credit, he did not look as appalling as Pansy had braced herself for. After how long he had been missing, to find out that he was being held by the enemy had dashed Pansy's hopes of seeing him in one piece again. But there he was, sitting up in bed, looking a bit drowsy but otherwise whole.

"The usual," said Blaise with a wry grin. "Just felt like seeing some more of the world, strayed a bit far from the beaten path. Then what do you know, but I'm back in the castle? Funny how these things work out."

Pansy spread her skirts daintily and perched on the chair by his bedside. It was far enough to still keep the illusion of decorum, but close enough where they could comfortably converse.

"I'm cross with you," she remarked lightly.

"You're likely not the only one," shrugged Blaise. "Do I have you to thank for my sudden reappearance?"

"If it please you," said Pansy, "but I believe that would be your captain. I hear he went galavanting off to ensure your safe return."

Blaise snorted and pushed himself further up in the bed.

"You got a new girl," he remarked, jerking his chin at Hermione, who was standing by the wall. At the acknowledgement, she glanced up, meeting Blaise's eyes for a moment before returning her gaze to the floor. "Don't tell me you killed the tiny blonde thing that used to follow you around."

Pansy rolled her eyes, resisting the urge to snort in a most unladylike fashion.

"I don't need twenty waiting women," she said. "Draco gave me this one after a raid, so I let Shea go work in the kitchens. I think she's sweet on one of the Clemens brothers."

She doubted that the girl had noticed Pansy's attention to the matter, but she did try to keep track of who her ladies were involved with. It was only practical.

"We're to have a ball celebrating your return," continued Pansy, "so hurry up and recover. It's been right boring around here without you."

"It's almost like you missed me," mused Blaise with one of his dastardly grins.

"Almost," said Pansy primly.

Blaise listened as Pansy filled him in with the latest castle gossip, pointedly steering clear of asking anything about his time away. Blaise seemed well enough, but she was in no position to press him, especially so soon after his return. He could hide behind his charming facade all he wanted, but there was something discomforting lingering just below the surface.

They chatted until another knock sounded at the door. Pansy folded her hands in her lap and angled her legs away from the bed, again the image of ladylike propriety, trying to hide an amused grin as Hermione hesitated before opening the door. The poor thing still didn't fully understand what her responsibilities and place in the household were, but at least she was trying.

"I see you found Blaise," said Draco, giving Hermione a curt nod as he entered. "And here I thought he would be able to rest."

"I feel pretty damn rested," grumbled Blaise. "Last thing I remember, it was morning, and Pansy here says it's past dinner."

Shooting Blaise an irritated look, Draco held out his hand to help Pansy to her feet. He landed a soft kiss on her knuckles, a single moment which did wonders to ease her earlier irritation with him.

"It's been quite a day," he murmured, looking at her with an abnormally gentle smile. "I need to speak with Blaise, but we'll catch up soon, alright?"

Pansy nodded agreeably, giving Draco's hand a squeeze before releasing it.

"Swift recovery," she wished Blaise with a saccharine smile. He grumbled something that sounded distinctly inappropriate, earning a snort of poorly-concealed laughter from where Hermione stood by the door.

Once the door had closed behind the women, Draco settled into the chair Pansy had recently occupied.

"I've had you checked over by Healer Tribble," said Draco without preamble. "He's got himself a new trainee, and since you looked to be in good shape, I had her sit in and run a few scans as well. They both said you're in excellent physical condition."

Blaise nodded but did not comment.

"It's been three months," continued Draco, "so naturally I was expecting some kind of malnutrition, perhaps torture if they thought you knew anything of importance. But unless the rebels who had you had one hell of a healer, it doesn't look like they laid a finger on you."

"I got lucky," said Blaise after a long moment of silence. "They weren't the kind to try and beat information out of someone, though I thought for a bit they would."

"Since you're in such good condition, I'm going to start on my paperwork tonight. No time for an interview like the present."

Blaise's face tightened as Draco summoned a parchment pad and quill from across the room.

"So," began Draco, "we'll start with the basics. How many rebels were in the cottage where we found you?"

Blaise offered a weak smile and shook his head.

"This is going to suck," he said plainly.

Draco set the pad down on his leg, regarding his friend with a frown.

"Blaise, I know it must have been difficult, but I really can't put this off," he explained. "My- the General openly questioned whether my rescue plan was feasible. I need to get this logged as quickly as possible to show his lordship how well it worked. Besides, word is already spreading that you're back. I wasn't the one who told Pansy."

But Blaise only shrugged, opened his mouth as if to respond, then closed it with a sigh.

"Do what you have to."

"We'll start smaller, then," said Draco, baffled by his friend's attitude. "We gained access to the property by taking down a man with a red ponytail. Who was that man and what was his position?"

There was only a hair's-breadth of a moment between Draco finishing his question and Blaise's eyes flickering closed. His head fell forward and his body slouched further against the pillows.

"Fuck!" cried Draco, leaping forward to grab his friend. He quickly discovered that Blaise was merely unconscious, not dead as Draco had initially feared. Leaning Blaise against the pillows once more, Draco considered reviving him before deciding against it. Instead, he strode out of the room and took the corner that led towards the main dining hall. As he had hoped, there were a few servants, all of whom bowed their heads upon seeing him.

"I need Healer Tribble and that new girl of his," snapped Draco.

Two minutes later, the healer and his apprentice were standing over Blaise's prone form. The girl was clearly new enough to not have wand rights granted yet, though the ones given to the apprentices were doctored so they could only be used for spells pertinent to their fields. Instead of a wand, the girl held a sheath of notes in her shaking hands.

Draco was trying to maintain control over his temper, but it was hard when faced with Healer Tribble's blundering.

"You said there was absolutely nothing wrong with him," said Draco flatly. "So what do you call this?"

"It- it could be mere coincidence," stammered Healer Tribble. "Perhaps the excitement of today's events became overwhelming for Lord Zabini."

"He's a seasoned soldier, not some pre-pubescent brat!" snapped Draco. "Is it safe to wake him?"

Healer Tribble conducted a series of quick wand movements before nodding.

"Then do it."

Blaise came to with a yawn, looking drowsily around the room before his gaze sharpened and landed on Draco.

"What is the last thing you remember?" asked Draco immediately.

"You were going to question me for your mission review," said Blaise with an irritated sigh. "Go on, get it over with."

"The first rebel we made contact with had red hair tied back and mentioned his wife," said Draco, trying slightly altered phrasing. "What was his name?"

Again, as soon as he completed his question, Draco watched as Blaise slumped forward.

"Damn it all to hell!" he shouted, making the healer's apprentice jump. "Wake him, Tribble."

Blaise gave Draco a piercing look as he came to but did not speak before Draco resumed his questioning.

"Do you know the location of the cottage where you were held?"

This time, instead of cursing as Blaise fell forward, Draco slammed his fist against the wall.

"Excuse me, sir," said a faint female voice from behind him. Turning, Draco saw that the healer's apprentice was quaking.

"Hush," snapped Healer Tribble, shooting her a glare. "Let me run a few more tests, Captain, and I'll see what can be done."

"It can't be lifted," said the apprentice, taking a small step away from Healer Tribble as he shot her a silencing glare.

"What is your name?" asked Draco, forcing himself to calm.

"Arielle, sir."

"Arielle, how do you know that Blaise can't be cured of whatever this is?"

"I saw it happen before I- before I was here," explained Arielle, her voice still wavering as her shaking began to fade. "Once it was a boy we found from another camp. He was rescued during an attack, and my father wanted to know who we should be trying to send him back to. But anytime he asked him anything, the boy would faint, just like Lord Zabini."

"What did your father do to fix this?"

"Nothing," said Arielle apologetically. "When it became clear that we couldn't lift whatever spell it was, we just let him stay at our camp. I think only the one who cast the spell is able to lift it."

"Security spells," spat Draco, his fury now directed at himself. The rescue had been entirely too easy, and he had been an over-confident fool to think that the rebels wouldn't have a way to safeguard their information.

"If I may, sir," continued Arielle. "I saw it one other time, but he- he died, sir." At Draco's look, she hurried to explain. "But he died when we asked the very first question, you see, it wasn't that continued questions made things worse."

"Thank you, Arielle," said Draco once he was sure his anger wouldn't leach into his words. "That is very useful information. Healer Tribble, revive Lord Zabini and take your apprentice to see Madam Malkin. I want her to begin training with an apprentice's wand."

Arielle smiled gratefully and Draco nodded at the girl, ignoring Healer Tribble's expression of disapproval. Both exited after Tribble had revived Blaise, and Draco returned to his chair, waiting for the door to close before he continued.

"So," said Draco, "it appears that you will be unable to make any kind of statement regarding your time in captivity."

Blaise smiled ruefully. "It only took you what, four or five tries to give up? I'm impressed."

"The trainee healer has seen this before," said Draco with a huff of frustration. "But apparently there's a version of this spell where instead of being rendered unconscious, the victim dies. Which means that the rebels who had you must have grown to like you, at least a bit. Enough that they didn't want to condemn you to death if you were rescued."

"I know it comes as a bit of a shock, but it is possible for people to like me enough to not want me to die," said Blaise with a grin. "So, what if you fill me in on what I've missed while I was otherwise occupied? That way at least one of us will be in the loop."


	7. Chapter 7

Pansy began the day by telling her serving ladies that they were to be visiting the men in one of their training facilities shortly after lunch. Lavinia grinned at this announcement, and even the usually-stoic Margot showed a bit of life as they readied Pansy for her day. Hermione did not dare to ask more about their excitement until after they had parted ways with Pansy, headed to their own dining hall for breakfast.

"It's not that I hate spending time in the library," explained Lavinia, "but it can get a bit dull, especially when we aren't allowed access to the more interesting books."

"The training rooms have a higher level of visual interest," said Margot, a sly smile betraying her otherwise prim deportment.

"She means some of the men train shirtless," said Lavinia, rolling her eyes, "and while that's true, it's hardly the most interesting thing about it. Captain Malfoy changed the typical training program to include more physical work so that his men would be in better condition if they were disarmed, and the other commanders followed suit. Now all of the men are required to keep in peak physical condition, on top of their magical training."

Hermione nodded with a small frown.

"You'll see the appeal when we get there," said Lavinia confidently.

And so, after they had eaten a light lunch, Hermione found herself accompanying Lady Pansy, Lavinia, and Margot to a section of the castle she had never ventured to before. They stopped at a large door marked with a single symbol: a wand crossed with a sword.

Lady Pansy turned to Hermione, a faint smile on her lips.

"It's a bit frightening at first," she explained, "but we're behind all kinds of protective spells where we'll be sitting. And we'll be seeing my fiancées men today, and they're the best of the best. It's very rare that one of them gets truly injured during training."

Hermione nodded mutely. Lady Pansy was still under the impression that Hermione had not seen any combat where she had been stationed, and Hermione was happy to let her continue with her misconception.

Combat history or not, Hermione found herself gasping as they walked into the training facility. The room was far larger than Hermione had expected, close to the size of the hall where the nobility took their meals. There was seating along the outside edges of the room, but the center was where the training was taking place. Inside an oval that was painted on the floor, men were in groups practicing hand-to-hand combat. Some were standing with cups of water, mopping their foreheads with rags as they waited for their turn. Two were laying off to the side being examined by healers.

Captain Malfoy walked among the men, observing and offering his comments when necessary. Hermione couldn't hear what he was saying over the din of the room, but she saw him correct a man's form, stepping in to take his place and demonstrate on his opponent before continuing his rounds.

Lady Pansy led her serving ladies to one of the seating areas outside of the painted oval. She patted the bench after she had settled herself in, giving the women permission to sit with her. Hermione did so without speaking, still transfixed by the activity in the room.

At the sound of a sharp whistle, the fighting ceased. All of the opponents clasped hands or offered each other respectful nods as they gathered in the water section, accepting cups from those already there. The break was short, and at the sound of another whistle, their jovial chatter died down.

"I want to start working on the new shield Richardson developed," said Captain Malfoy, his voice magically amplified. "You've all worked on it individually, but it's time to test it in a combat scenario. We'll do trios, stacking the offensive, one set at a time."

His men clearly knew what he wanted as they separated into groups of three. Without discussion, one such group moved to the center of the room, standing with two of the men facing the third. At the sound of the whistle, the solo man incanted a shielding charm while the other two began firing offensive spells.

Hermione could not spot what made this shield charm different until the caster shouted a word and it transformed from a simple shield into something that functioned like a mirror. His opponent's spells began to bounce off of it, and upon watching him more closely, it appeared as though the man could control the direction in which the spells shot.

Finally the whistle sounded again and the three men ceased their duel. Captain Malfoy nodded before tapping his throat with his wand once more.

"Good work," he acknowledged, "but try not to say the activation key so loudly. In a battle your opponent won't be able to hear you, but in personal combat they will. Next group."

Another trio repeated the exercise. After each set, Captain Malfoy issued his words of encouragement and instructions on how to improve. The third group stood in a slightly different pattern, allowing Hermione to see that when the mirror part of the charm was activated, the caster also became invisible. Upon closer examination in the following round, she realized it was closer to a Disillusionment Charm than a true invisibility spell, as there were still some ripples in the air that marked where the caster stood.

Though the exercise was repetitive, Hermione did not grow bored while watching the men work. She found herself missing her own combat exercises, which she often conducted privately with Harry. There were many spells that they were comfortable working on with others in their camp, but a few lesser-known spells that some would say verged on Dark magic. They had agreed to keep these to themselves.

She was thinking of home and thinking of Harry, so when she caught sight of a familiar face, Hermione's first thought was that she must have been hallucinating. She had yet to see someone she knew in the castle and had begun to doubt that she ever would.

"Jameson, switch to offense," said Captain Malfoy. The three men shifted and Hermione leaned forward, unsure of if she wanted to verify the man's identity or realize she had been mistaken. But in the moment before the whistle sounded, he looked up, blue eyes widening as they met hers.

Ron Weasley locked eyes with Hermione for only a moment before he was blasted backwards, having neglected to raise his shield upon the start of the match. Hermione let out a small screech before she could stop the sound from escaping, lurching forward but somehow keeping herself from flying off the bench. The other two men, who had clearly attacked without expecting their spells to land, jogged over to where Ron lay prone on the ground.

"He'll be fine," said Lady Pansy dismissively. "They're only practicing, after all. Some of the recruits are rather terrible when they first arrive, but Captain Malfoy get his men in good shape one way or another."

Hermione did not want to think about the alternative methods the captain might be employing to train the captured men. It had been over a year since she had last seen Ron, and in that time he had changed rather dramatically. On the day he had departed the Black Phoenix camp, she would have called him scrawny in her affectionate way. He had shot up like a beanpole one summer, but with the camp's limited rations, his body had never broadened to balance the growth spurt.

Rations were not an issue in the castle, and Hermione had been eating more than she had since leaving her home as a girl. Ron had clearly benefited from the additional food, which fueled the training the men went through. Where he had once been bony, he was now layered with wiry muscles. His face was softer than it was at the camp, slightly rounded where it had once been hollowed.

"Get Healer Abrams to check him over," called Captain Malfoy from across the room. "I don't want him to end up concussed." Turning to his remaining men, he called forth three more. "Pull your power a bit until you see the shield is established," he instructed.

The next match began, but Hermione couldn't draw her eyes away from where Ron had been thrown. He was being helped to his feet by the men he had been facing, who were patting him on the back and grinning. The three headed towards the exit, and just as Hermione's stomach had begun to sink, Ron glanced back, a small smile on his face. Though he did not look to where she was sitting, she knew the smile was just for her.

Hermione's nerves began to settle as Ron left and the practice continued. She had been keeping an eye out for those she had known were missing, who she now hoped had been captured and not killed. However, she had been under the impression that Ron had successfully made it from the Black Phoenix camp to the Midnight Augurey outpost. None of the reports Harry had given her had born any indication that his transfer had been unsuccessful, or that he had been captured after his arrival. Ron was one of the people Hermione had counted as relatively safe.

When the men began on their next set of exercises, Lady Pansy stood, with Hermione and the others clamoring to follow suit.

"As much as I would love to watch whatever push-up competition the captain is going to put on," sighed Lady Pansy, "I'm supposed to be taking tea with Daphne, and she's dreadful when I'm tardy."

Captain Malfoy did not look away from his men as his fiancée swept out of the room, her ladies following closely behind. Hermione was thankful that her mistress was scheduled to be at tea; she did such things privately, so after escorting her to Lady Daphne's chambers, Hermione was given the afternoon to herself. She was unsure where she wanted to explore, but found the decision made for her as Lavinia looped her arm through Hermione's and set off down the corridor.

"We'll see you for supper," Lavinia called over her shoulder to Margot, who waved her acknowledgement.

"Where are we going?" asked Hermione as they turned down another corridor, then began down a set of stairs. The castle sometimes seemed to be made of little else than stairs.

"I fancy a stroll outside," said Lavinia lightly. "Let's see if someone will pass us through."

They only had to wait by the garden door for a few minutes before one of the castle's occupants came upon them. He was dressed in yellow trimmed with bronze, marking him as a spell-crafter under Lord Voldemort's employ.

"Afternoon off?" he asked, already withdrawing his wand.

"Our lady is taking a private tea," said Lavinia, smiling as she dropped her eyes respectfully. Hermione did the same, only seeing a brief glimpse of the man's wand as he reached out and tapped her collar.

"Do behave," he murmured vaguely, already turning to continue on his way.

Hermione felt a flutter of nerves as she stepped into the sunlight. Lady Pansy spent most of her time indoors, and she had yet to have the opportunity to wander outside on her own.

"I thought it would be harder than that," she admitted to Lavinia as they began down the path leading towards the main gardens.

"The gardens are heavily warded," explained Lavinia, leading the way. "It's really an unnecessary security measure, more of a method of control than anything else. Removing that one layer wouldn't aid in an escape in the least."

"That's reassuring," muttered Hermione crossly. She wasn't harboring any unreasonable escape plans; she knew that trying to break free of the castle and its occupants would take time, and a premature attempt would only result in her death. Or worse, someone would look more closely at who she was before she was taken.

The grounds of the castle looked to stretch on endlessly. Hermione had only seen this side of the exterior, which featured an expansive hedge maze surrounded by flowering trees. Lavinia turned towards one of the tree-lined sections, guiding Hermione to sit on a stone bench in the shade.

"So," said Lavinia, turning to Hermione, "care to tell me who that man was?"

Hermione's throat constricted. She desperately wanted someone she was able to confide in, and Lavinia had been nothing but kind to her since her arrival. Still, she had not survived for so long by blindly trusting people she had only known for a handful of weeks.

"Just someone I used to know," she finally said, toying with a rough spot near the hem of her dress. Pretty soon she would have to request that one of Madam Malkin's girls mend the spot, before it tore properly.

"First time spotting a familiar face?"

After a moment, Hermione nodded.

"It gets easier," said Lavinia, taking Hermione's hand and squeezing it reassuringly. "For what it's worth, Captain Malfoy treats his men exceptionally well."

They sat in silence for a moment, both lost in their own thoughts, before Hermione finally spoke.

"It's not entirely what I expected," she admitted.

Lavinia chuckled. "My thoughts exactly. It can be hard to remember what's truly going on beyond here. That's why I like getting outdoors when I can. It helps to remind me how things were. How things still are."

"I may need that," Hermione agreed.

Lavinia turned the topic to lighter matters, keeping their conversation to idle gossip concerning the other servants. (Hermione had tried to continue thinking of them as slaves, or as captives, but it was difficult to call her situation one thing in her mind while being forced to call it another out loud.)

Shea and her beau were doing well, and Lavinia said she was much happier now that she was working in the kitchens. Hermione admitted to being rubbish at cooking and was grateful that she had been assigned to something that essentially required her to know when not to speak.

After spending what Hermione felt was far too short a time in the garden, Lavinia stood, gesturing for Hermione to do the same. They wore no timepieces, but Lavinia seemed to have the ability to constantly know what time it was. She assured Hermione that she would learn to do the same, thought privately Hermione doubted she would master that particular skill.

Lavinia waved to a nearby gardener who was using his wand to carve one of the shrubberies as they passed. It looked like it would soon be some kind of four-legged creature, though it was early enough in the process that Hermione could not guess which in particular. The gardener grinned at the pair as they passed, heading back in through the door from which they had came.

Lady Pansy was in an unusually cross mood following her tea, and Hermione was thankful that she knew how to hold her tongue. Though usually kind, today Lady Pansy snapped at the smallest deviations from her preferred routine, including Hermione bringing out a pair of shoes she deemed inappropriate for her dinner gown.

"I'll look like an ogre in those," hissed Lady Pansy unreasonably. "Bring me the slippers, the black silk. And hurry or we'll be late."

She was not, in fact, late. Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes as the servants parted ways from the lady and headed to their own dining hall. Though she had begun to trust Lavinia, she still could not get a good read on Margot, and did not want to push things by being openly rude about the woman they had been charged to serve.

xXxXxXxXxxxXxXx

Word travelled fast through the castle following Blaise's rescue. Draco found himself called to meet with his father the following day, which he had been doing his best to prepare for. Still, as he sat in their usual meeting room, running his fingertips along the smooth surface of the table, he knew that the situations was less than ideal.

Lucius swept into the room, his walking stick sounding from the corridor moments before he appeared. Instead of hovering over Draco as he frequently did, Lucius sat, leaning his walking stick against the table and folding his hands before him.

"Report," he instructed curtly.

"The mission was a success," said Draco. "As stated in my original plans, I was accompanied by four of my company. I had Amarla take point-"

"You took Amarla?" interjected Lucius.

Draco felt a pang of annoyance. Clearly his father had not read through the plans he had presented before dismissing them as hopeless.

"Yes," said Draco curtly, "along with Icarus, Caster, and Theo. We ran upon the cottage with Amarla taking point. I had her disguised as a civilian being pursued by the Marlen brothers. Our rebels were only too happy to rescue her. Theo blended one of his Knockout Draughts into her lipstick. Amarla gave her rescuer a kiss-"

Here, Lucius snorted. Draco pretended not to have heard and continued.

"-and we used some of Theo's stock to incapacitate the remaining member of the household. Blaise was recovered from within the cottage and resuscitated upon our return to the castle."

Lucius was silent for a long moment. Draco waited, knowing that his father would only speak when he was ready. It was a lesson Lucius had imparted on him at a young age: the power of silence, the ability to hold your meetings hostage until you were ready to land your next blow.

"Your use of Amarla was clever," said Lucius at last, causing Draco's eyes to widen in genuine shock. "Do not underestimate the damage a woman can inflict with her charm."

Another drawn-out silence, in which Draco tried to accept the fact that instead of the criticism he had expected, his father had given him a measure of praise.

"Healer Tribble has told me that Zabini is unable to speak about his time in captivity," continued Lucius. "Inconvenient, but this is not a matter for your concern. We'll have the healers continue to look for a solution. If the rebels had given him any useful information, they would have made sure that its revelation would kill him, not merely incapacitate him for a time."

"Precisely my thought," said Draco, doing his best to hide his relief. "He has been cleared physically, so after he has the mandatory meetings with the Mind Healers, I'll have him back in training with the rest of the company. He may be a bit rusty physically, but I want him back in action as soon as possible."

Lucius nodded his agreement and stood, his son doing the same.

"The ball will provide an excuse for you to spend some quality time with your fiancée" said Lucius. "Have one of her serving girls tell you what she'll be wearing and purchase something suitable to match. I want the others taking notice of your impending union."

"Sir," acknowledged Draco with a sharp nod.


End file.
